Gyspy Girl
by penofjade
Summary: In this oneshot, I redo another scene from Apprentice. This one is between Holmes and Russell when he goes on the hunt for the missing girl. What was his POV in this passage? Here's my take! Enjoy!


Disclaimer: I do not own Russell or Holmes, any characters not created by either Doyle or King are mine, however. Please respect them and ask to use them before you do so! Thank you!

A.N.: This is another brief summary of another previously written portion from _The Beekeeper's Apprentice_. I merely wrote it from Holmes' view, whereas King had written it from Russell's. Therefore, I do not own this story! I merely changed the POV. Thanks :D

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I was sitting in the front room, practicing a few of the livelier tunes I knew for my upcoming role as a gypsy, when who should come into the room but Russell. My first reaction was one of apprehension. I quickly covered that with a rakish grin, allowing the new gold tooth to shine.

She wasn't fooled. I could see her go on guard and I knew that I must be careful. She asked why I was dressed as a gypsy and I answered that I would be gone for a few days. She immediately asked if I was on a case and then preceded to wish to know why I wouldn't tell her what it was. Stubborn female, I was trying to keep her safe. The discussion soon escalated into an argument, both of us getting rather angry. She wanted an answer and I wouldn't give her one. But, in my anger, I said the one thing I shouldn't have. I told her she couldn't come because it could be dangerous. Wrong thing to say Holmes. I blame my lapse in judgement on anger, though this particular lapse was probably for the best.

She stood there in the kitchen doorway, just staring at me. When she did speak, her voice was very quiet and calm. She told me, in no uncertain terms, that she and I would cease to know each other(at that my heart started to beat faster) if I ever again thought of protecting "little Mary Russell"(her words, not mine). She left the doorway, and a moment later I heard the kitchen door shut behind her. I sat there for a minute, looking at the place where she had been. I couldn't let her go, she might be hurt; but if I didn't, I fully believed that she would separate herself from me, and that would be worse yet. Yes, she would be safe, but would I be? Could I keep going if she cut herself off from me?

I picked up me violin and absently started playing. Not a gypsy tune, like before, but a classical one, to think to. I recalled the conversation that I had overheard several years before. It had been the first time Watson and Russell had met. Watson had said something along the line of Russell having saved me from an early grave, and even when I had rebuked him then, I couldn't help but wonder. Had she saved me? Had she brought me back, given me a reason to live?

More importantly even then that, could I live knowing that it had been my decision that had separated us? No, I probably couldn't. She came back inside ten minutes after leaving, just as she had said she would. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, and asked where we(not I, this time) were going. I looked at her, my eyes half shut, and knew that she would go. She must go. I will admit, I needed her in my life. Even if that meant letting her risk hers.

She looked right back at me, waiting for the answer that would decide our future. I snorted and thrust my violin back in its case(with a little more force than was absolutely necessary, I must admit).

We went through the now familiar ritual of going over the information. I checked to make sure she had all the pertinent facts and then proceeded to cover her face in a substance that would darken it considerably. I must admit that being able to touch her face freely for the first time was an interesting experience. I had dreamed of doing that, though telling myself once I woke up that it was a fantasy best left in dreams. Evidently that was not so. She must have felt something of my thoughts for she found it very hard to sit still. Several times, I had to order her to stop fidgeting.

As soon as I had finished smearing the muck all over her face, I gave her a bottle of black hair dye and sent her across the hall to the bathroom. I went downstairs to wait for her. When she reappeared, I was hard pressed to say anything at all. She swirled in, her multiple skirts flying, her gaudy gold jewelry and specs flashing. Her black hair and brown skin coupled with her blue eyes made her an exotic beauty. Said blue eyes were glowing with laughter. Yes, I was lucky to say anything coherent. All I was able to say though, expressed my thoughts rather well. "Fortunately, it is Mrs. Hudson's day off." Russell just smiled and we were able to get down to business.

Our journey to Cardiff was varied: the trip from Seaford to Bristol was made in first class, while the remainder was decidedly less comfortable. On the first leg, while in first class, I filled Russell in on what we would do once we reached Cardiff.

Upon reaching the Cardiff station, I spoke low in Russell's ear, "Now Russell, we shall see what you can do on your own. We have an appointment with the Simpsons in the office of Chief Inspector Conner at half-twelve. It would not be the best idea to go in through the front door, as I told you, so we are going to be arrested. Kindly don't manhandle your persecutor too badly. His bones are old." And with that, I picked up the two smallest bags and started off, leaving her to deal to the remaining four. Once outside the station, the crowd thickened and I knew that Russell would have a hard time of it with the four bags in that crush. Sure enough, a child stepped in front of me, and I stopped quickly to avoid stepping on it(or so it would seem). I felt Russell run into me and heard her drop one of the bags. I kicked it into the passing crowd, where it was in turn kicked by various other people. She followed it, as I had known she would, and just as she reached to grab it, I slammed her(sorry, Russ, all part of the act) into a wall. She hit the wall and she collapsed in a heap of baggage and skirts.

Continuing with the part, "Aw for God's sake, can you not 'ang on t'yer bags? I shoulda brought your brother; at least he can stand up straight." I reached down and grabbed her arm, jerking her upright. I purposely let go too soon, and she stumbled into a nearby group of elegant men. They stopped her from falling, but all traffic had been successfully stopped.

Seeing her being handled by all those men, some of whom were looking at her a little too closely for my comfort, added an extra gruffness to my voice as I reached out and grabbed her from among them. "Damn you, girl, you're worse than your mother for falling into the arms of strange men. Get over here and pick up your things." With that I shoved her towards the fallen bags. I caught a glimpse of tears and felt a small jolt of pain over what I knew I must do next. I heard from the crowd the murmurs that were going around, though no one stepped forward to stay my hand towards my "daughter."

"But Da', they was only trying to help me-," she said, perfectly in character. As my arm swung towards her, she moved just slightly so that she could move with the blow. Even so, my hand connected with a crack. She cowered against the wall with her arms over her head and cried out when I kicked the valise under her. That cry ripped through me, for it had sounded like a tiny kitten whimpering.

Finally, to my vast relief, a police whistle rang out. I don't know how much longer I could have continued mistreating Russell that way. Even then, I wanted to reach down and gather her up, make sure that she was all right, tell her that I was sorry for having had to do that. Truth be told, I wanted to do more than that.

Thankfully, a loud, authoritative Welsh voice called out. "Stop you that, man. There's shameful, that is, hurting a child."

I answered, once again in character, "She's no child and she needs some sense beat into her." Even then, I realized that she wasn't a child. That she was well on her way to becoming a grown woman.

He answered back, grabbing my up-raised arm, "That you will not, man. No. We'll not be having that. There's the station with both of you; we shall see if that cools you tempers." He then proceeded to advise the group of men to check their pockets. I had taken nothing, so we were taken directly to the station.

Russell succeed in getting in to see the chief and before long they had brought me up from the cells, though I did have a few bruises to show from the short while that I was there. Even with the bruises, though, I was rather enjoying myself.

I took the seat next to Russell as soon as the chief's secretary had left after bringing in tea. I had to make sure that she was all right, so I asked, "You are quite to time, Russell. I did not harm you?"I wanted to reach over and sooth that place where I had smacked her, but I held myself back.

She answered in turn, "A few bruises, nothing more. You managed to miss my spectacles. And you?"

"As I said, there were no problems. Chief Inspector Conner, I take it you have met Mary Russell?" I asked, wishing to know his reaction.

His answer was rather what I had expected. "She. . .introduced herself. As your 'assistant.' I ask you Mr. Holmes, is this truly necessary?"

I just looked at him. I had expected as much, but expecting and actually hearing it were two different things. I wanted to punch the man for saying anything like that about Russell. I may have contemplated it a few times, but I cared for Russell too much to ever act on the thought. I also noticed that it took Russell a moment to grasp what the man had truly been insinuating. When, she did, she turned scarlet and stood up. "Holmes, I think you would be better off alone on this case, after all. I shall return home-."

I let her go no further. "You will sit down."She sat. I had decided, some where during the trip, that I did wish to have her along, and I was not about to let some Welsh inspector ruin this, our first truly interesting case.

She may have sat, but I noticed that she didn't look at Conner. "Miss Russell is my assistant, Chief Inspector. On this case as on others." That was all I said, but Conner understood, for he sat back in his chair, cleared his throat, and shot Russ a quick glance that was all the apology she would get, being as nothing had actually been said. "Your assistant, fine."

"That is correct. Her presence makes no difference with the arrangements, however. Are the Simpsons here?"

With that, the case got well and truly underway. We met the Simpsons, collected our luggage, and appropriated our caravan. I had to hold back, once again from punching someone, this time the owner of the stable, for the way he was looking at Russ. I could see that she was definitely going to cause some comment among the males we met along the way.

When all was ready, I handed Russell the reins to the caravan and we were off. Not long after, however, I had her pull over and apply the brake. We were on the very outskirts of town. I started checking to make sure that everything was where it should be. Russ went to the horses and checked them over. Not long afterward, she came to stand next to me, or by my legs, as I was under the wagon, checking the axles.

"Need a hand?" she called.

"No point in both of us looking like mechanics. I'm nearly finished." A minute or so passed, silent on her part, grunts and low imprecations on mine.

Suddenly, her voice came in the form of a question. "Holmes, there's something I must ask you."

"Not just now, Russell," was my response, having a good idea of what it would be on.

"I need to know," she persisted, "Is my presence . . . an embarrassment?"

"Don't be absurd," I was determined to avoid the subject if I could.

She however, had other ideas. "I mean it, Holmes. Inspector Conner today all but accused you. . . me . . . I just need to know if my presence is inconvenient."

It bloody well is to my peace of mind half the time, was my thought. "My dear Russell, I hope you don't flatter yourself that because you talked me into bringing you on this delightful outing, that means I am incapable of refusing you. To my considerable - Oh blast! Give me a rag, would you? Thank you.(This is what comes of having a serious conversation with ones head under a wagon- an interrupted flow of speech.) To my considerable surprise, Russell, you have proven a competent assistant and furthermore, hold some promise for becoming an invaluable one. It is, I can even say, a new and occasionally remarkable experience to work with a person who inspires, not by vacuum, but by actual contribution. Hand me the large spanner." My next remakes were punctuated by grunts. "Conner is a fool. What he and his ilk chose to believe is no concern of mine, and thus far it has not seemed to harm you. You cannot help being a female, and I should be something of a fool as well were I to discount your talents merely because of their housing."

She answered slowly and somewhat hesitantly, "I see. I think."

On the way, I had several more rather strong urges to punch someone. In several of the towns we passed through, I heard a few remarks about "my daughter" that wouldn't have been tolerated if I hadn't been on a case. As it was, I kept an eye on the men, and a few punches ready, just in case. I never had to deal with this with Watson, I thought at one point. I then glanced over at Russell and told myself, Russell isn't Watson. With that, my gaze turned to the surrounding country side and my mind was forcefully turned to the dullest experiment I could think of. She's too damned beautiful for her own good, was my thought as we continued along. Her eighteenth birthday proved that, but that's another story.


End file.
